


The Courtship of Steve Rogers

by tolieawake



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, SO MUCH FLUFF, winter soldier storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolieawake/pseuds/tolieawake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OR,</p><p>How the Winter Soldier caught Captain America, and Bucky Barnes kept a 70-year-old promise.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“If we could,” Bucky said, stretched out against the hard concrete of the roof beneath them, arms folded behind his head, “I'd take you dancing.”</i></p><p> </p><p>“The Winter Soldier,” Fury said, tossing the folder down onto the table, “will be completing an assassination tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“We don't know. All we know, is where the assassination is meant to take place.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, Cap,” Tony asked, “you ready to go dancing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 70 years ago

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The Courtship of Steve Rogers 智娶队长](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659763) by [xyoshiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyoshiki/pseuds/xyoshiki)



“ _If we could,” Bucky said, stretched out against the hard concrete of the roof beneath them, arms folded behind his head, “I'd take you dancing.” He turned his head to look at Steve, grinning at him._

 

“ _What?” Steve asked with a laugh, frowning slightly. It was midsummer, the air warm around them, and Bucky had stripped down to his undershirt. His forearms and biceps caught Steve's attention for a moment, before his eyes flitted back to Bucky's. They were alone on the building's rooftop, having laid themselves out to try and catch the slight breeze._

 

_Bucky shrugged. “I'd take you dancing,” he said, “out to dinner, an opera, maybe – that's what rich folks do, right?” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nudged Steve's shoulder with his own._

 

_Steve nudged back._

 

“ _Out to the bar, dancing,” Bucky continued._

 

“ _What? Again?”_

 

“ _Sure, I like dancing.”_

 

_Steve laughed. “'Course you do,” he said. “You're good at it.”_

 

_Bucky shrugged once more. “It's all about having the right partner,” he said, “you and me, we've always been the best partners.”_

 

“ _You just say that 'cos you taught me to dance.”_

 

“ _Still true.”_

 

“ _Flatterer.”_

 

“ _I'd buy you flowers -”_

 

“ _I'm not a girl -”_

 

“ _Take you out on a picnic, somewhere nice. Then I'd ask you to marry me.”_

 

“ _Buck -”_

 

“ _And I'd have it all set up, so soon as you said 'yes', we'd get married, right there in the park. And nobody would ever try to split us up ever again.”_

 

_Steve swallowed, hard, blinking against the harsh wetness in his eyes. “So sure I'd say yes?” he asked._

 

“ _'Course,” Bucky replied. “I just told you I'd court you first. Do it right. Ain't no-one gonna say Bucky Barnes didn't do right by Steve Rogers. 'Sides, you never could say no to me.”_

 

_Steve snorted, but it was half-sob. “I never could,” he agreed, letting the truth settle between them._

 


	2. I'd take you dancing

 

 

“ _I'd take you dancing.”_

 

“The Winter Soldier,” Fury said, tossing the folder down onto the table. Leaning forward, Steve slid it towards himself, flipping open the cover. Inside, there were merely two pieces of paper, black on white, lines of text. A small diagram of what appeared to be some kind of an arm. He frowned.

 

“That,” Fury continued, catching Steve's look, “is all our information on him.”

 

“All of it?” Steve couldn't quite stop the exclamation from escaping his mouth.

 

“All of it,” Fury repeated.

 

Leaning over Steve's shoulder, Tony poked at the file with one finger. “Seriously?” he asked. “You run, like, the biggest intelligence agency in the world, and this is all you have on someone?” He tilted his head to read.

 

_Current Status: unknown_

 

_Kill Count: unconfirmed. Estimated in the 60s._

 

_Current Affiliation: unknown._

 

_Past Affiliations: the Red Room (Soviet Russia)_

 

Lifting his eyes from the brief information displayed before them, Steve looked back up at Fury. “What do we need to know?” he asked.

 

“A lot more than I can tell you,” the director replied. “The Winter Soldier is generally considered to be a ghost story of the intelligence world. Kind of like the boogey man for spies.”

 

“Why?” Tony asked, “what's so good about him?”

 

“He always fulfills his mission,” Fury replied, “and then he vanishes again. Sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months, sometimes for years. The only confirmed sightings there have ever been of him have been during a mission. The rest of the time, it's as though he doesn't exist.”

 

“Does he?” Steve asked. “Exist, I mean? Or is it, like, a title? Passed on between assassins?”

 

“He exists,” Natasha spoke up for the first time. She made no move towards the folder, and Steve turned a concerned glance on her. In response, she pressed a smile across her lips, short and tight.

 

“Nah, he can't,” Tony replied, poking at the file once more. “This says his first confirmed kill was back in the 60s. If it was the same guy, he'd be old by now. To old to still be running around killing people.”

 

Natasha shrugged. “He exists,” she repeated. Clint shot her a glance, but said nothing.

 

“So why do we need to know about him?” Steve asked, turning back to Fury. “If he only ever appears when he's completing a mission, then -”

 

“Then we have intel that he's about to complete a mission, yes,” Fury agreed. “Someone, somewhere, decided to drop us a line. Let us know that the Winter Soldier will be completing an assassination tomorrow night.”

 

“Who?”

  
“We don't know.” Fury frowned, looking entirely put-out by this. “All we know, is where the assassination is meant to take place.” He dropped another folder onto the table. Reaching over, Steve flipped it open, and Tony whistled.

 

“That's posh,” he said.

 

“What, you been there before?” Steve asked. Laughing, Tony clapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Not really my kinda place,” he replied, “but hey, it's probably yours, grandpa.”

 

Steve glanced down at the glossy images of some kind of dance hall. Like Tony said, it looked rather rich. Elegant, extravagant, and yet somehow tasteful. Rich draperies, chandeliers, and people dancing all dressed to the nines.

 

“Our intel on the Winter Soldier suggests that he is of an average build, dark hair, and with one metal arm.”

 

“Excuse me?” Tony asked.

 

“You heard me, Stark,” Fury replied. He fixed them all with a stare from his one good eye. “This may be our best chance this decade of capturing this guy,” he said. “Don't let me down.”

 

Frowning, Steve dragged the images of the dance hall closer to himself, studying the information on its surroundings. “And we have no idea who he's after?” he asked.

 

“Only that they will be there, somewhere, tomorrow night,” Fury agreed.

 

Steve nodded. “Hawkeye, Iron Man,” he said, “we'll need you outside. Hawkeye, can you canvas the area tomorrow? Find the best vantage points, and then set yourself up on one. See if you can't figure out where he's going to take the shot from.” Clint nodded. Steve turned to Tony. “We'll need Iron Man as air support. Eyes in the sky, and ready to fly in as needed.”

 

“Sure thing, Cap,” Tony agreed.

 

Tapping his finger against the file, Steve considered their other options. “Widow and I will be inside. Try and figure out who he's after, and provide support from that end.” He glanced over at Bruce. “How would you feel being inside?” he asked.

 

Bruce gave a small half-smile. “Honestly?” he replied, “I don't think you want the Other Guy in range if someone's going to start firing.”

 

Steve nodded. “Thor's not back 'til next week,” he added, then glanced up at Fury. “Back-up?” he asked.

 

“All the staff will be replaced with Agents,” Fury told them, “there will also be Agents situated in the surrounding streets. You'll be linked via comms. We're not sure what tech the Winter Soldier will have access to, some of his hits have been straight-forward, bullet to the head, ones; others have involved advanced tech, or even more up-close-and-personal approaches. So be prepared for anything.”

 

Nodding, Steve pushed himself to his feet.

 

“So, Cap,” Tony asked, “you ready to go dancing?”

 

For a moment, Steve froze, hand reaching out to grab the file.

 

“Cap?” Tony asked.

 

Shaking himself, Steve picked up the file, turning to leave. “Depends on the partner,” he replied, striding out of the room.

 

 

**

 

 

Dressed in a suit that Stark had gotten from somewhere (and frankly faintly concerned by just how well it actually fit him), Steve tugged at the tie round his throat.

 

“You look fine,” Natasha's voice murmured in his ear.

 

Letting a small, wry smile cross his face, Steve stepped further into the room. “Doesn't mean it's comfortable,” he replied softly, knowing his comms would pick it up.

 

He glanced around the room, the interior matching the images he had studied in preparation for the mission. There was the sweeping staircase leading up to a balcony that overhung the room on every side. There the bar, tucked under the balcony and far swankier than any bar he'd been to before. There the polished oak doors that led to the restrooms. There the small, round tables ringing the open expanse of dance floor. There the small stage, live band set up on it.

 

He couldn't see Natasha, but wasn't looking for her. She would be there somewhere, mingling, making herself fit in in a way that Steve wasn't sure he could ever emulate. But he could try.

 

Moving between the other richly dressed patrons, Steve made his way over to one of the small, round tables, close to the wall and away from the dance floor. Taking a seat, he leant back, letting his eyes wander around the room.

 

The problem, the real problem they had – other than the fact that they didn't even know what the Winter Soldier looked like – was that they didn't know who his target was. Trying to stop a master assassin, without knowing what the assassin looked like, or who his target was – all they had to go on was the venue.

 

The night was still young, and so Steve was able to take in all the patrons, studying them. For each one, he wondered if they were the potential target. He saw Natasha, talking softly with someone, laughing brightly, head thrown back, before flitting away and vanishing into the room with ease despite her bright red dress.

 

Slowly, more and more people began to arrive. The band's music changed from soft, teasing strains, to the kind of music you could dance to.

 

“I hear the music starting up – if you call that music,” Tony said, voice coming clearly to Steve through his comms. “You gonna dance?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, before stopping himself. It wouldn't do for anyone to see him reacting to someone who wasn't there. “I don't think that's the point,” he replied.

 

“I dunno,” Natasha cut in, “it might help with the whole, 'blend in' thing.” Steve could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn't see her.

 

A waiter came by, offering him a drink, and he accepted, holding it between his hands. A few people had drifted out into the middle of the room and were starting to dance.

 

“Don't have a partner,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

 

“So go get one,” Tony said. In the background, Steve could hear the whirr of the suit. “It's not that hard. Just bat those baby blues and smile nicely, I'm sure there are people there who go for that wholesome, all-American thing.” There was a pause. “You do know how to dance, don't you?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I know how to dance.” He glanced down at the table.

 

“ _C'mon Stevie, it's easy.”  
_

 

“ _I dunno, Buck. You know me, I want to, but -”_

 

“ _So we'll take it slow. You haven't been coughing for days. You can do this. Nothing too active, I promise.”_

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve took his drink with him as he wandered around the room, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, even as he studied each person he passed.

 

“That doesn't look like dancing,” Tony commented.

 

“Still don't have a partner,” Steve murmured. He moved past the bar, deliberately turning his gaze away from the brunette seated there who had hair the same shade as Bucky's. If he let himself, he'd see his friend in every dark-haired man out there.

 

Making his way back to the table, Steve sat down. A whirl of red in the corner of his eye let him know that Natasha, at least, was taking Tony's advice and dancing.

 

“Anything?” he asked.

 

“Nothing up here,” Tony replied immediately, “and can I just say, the ban on music while on missions makes things really quite boring. So, please, relieve my boredom and do something interesting. Dance. Talk to someone. I don't know. Sing a number.”

 

Steve grimaced – he wished Howard hadn't kept quite so much 'Captain America' memorabilia, or at least, that Tony had never seen any of the footage of his 'chorus-girl' days.

 

“No movement,” Clint reported, voice the steady calm he always seemed to descend into when settling in to wait.

 

“Nothing suspicious on the cameras,” Bruce added. He was back at Stark (Avengers) Tower, watching the feed from the security cameras in the building.

 

“I could have told you that,” Tony complained. “It's completely boring. Do you think you could organise a fight or something? Hey, maybe Nat could make some guys fight over her?”

 

Pushing back his urge to roll his eyes, Steve instead focused on looking around the room once more.

 

There was no reply from Natasha, but she would let him know if she did see anything.

 

“Ooh look,” Tony said suddenly, voice bright with glee. “Maybe we will get some entertainment this evening.”

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

Tony laughed.

 

Bruce sighed. “There's a guy headed towards you,” he said. Steve stiffened, slipping easily from alert into high alert.

 

“Not that kind of 'heading towards you', Cap,” Tony said. “You may just get to entertain me with some dancing after all.”

 

Nat's laughter washed over the line, and Steve spent a brief moment searching out her lithe form on the dance floor, before turning to look at whoever was approaching him. He froze.

 

His breath caught in his chest, and for a moment it felt as thought he was going to have his first asthma attack since the serum. Broad shoulders filling out a pressed black suit, slim waist, strong thighs. Each movement confident and sure.

 

Slowly, Steve raised his eyes towards the man's face, hoping to dispel the image he had in his head. His throat went dry.

 

Bright blue-grey eyes, cocky-jut of the chin, small smirk curving over his lips and a fall of brown hair framing his face.

 

The man came to a stop before Steve. “Hey,” he said, holding out one hand.

 

“ _Hey,” Bucky said, holding out one hand. “Let's practice your dancing.”_

 

“ _You just like dancing,” he grumbled, but pushed himself to his feet anyway. He never could deny Bucky anything._

 

“Hey,” Steve managed to get out. His heart was pounding in his chest and he suddenly wanted to wipe his hands against his pants in case his palms were sweaty. This wasn't Bucky, he told himself. Bucky died, seventy years ago and half a world away. Steve watched him fall.

 

None of that did anything to steady his heartbeat or breathing.

 

The stranger smirked at him, wiggling his hand from side-to-side. “Dance?” he asked.

 

“Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!” Tony chanted in Steve's ear, but he couldn't hear him.

 

Swallowing, Steve pushed himself to his feet, reaching out to take the stranger's hand. It even felt like Bucky.

 

“Yes!” Tony declared.

 

With a grin, the stranger pulled Steve towards himself, reeling him in with a strength that was reassuring without being controlling. Half in a daze, Steve let himself be led out onto the floor and then pulled into that weird (comfortable, familiar) embrace that came from dancing.

 

Bucky's – the stranger's – hands were firm and sure against him, one on his waist, the other clasping his hand tight. Without thinking, Steve reached out, placing his free hand on the stranger's shoulder. The stranger led, and Steve followed.

 

They moved around the room easily, and if Steve himself had been a little smaller, he could have imagined he was standing back in their tiny little apartment in Brooklyn, back before the war, letting Bucky spin him around until they were both laughing and Steve had to stop to catch his breath.

 

“Try not to look too startled,” Nat's voice, dry, came through his earpiece. “It's just dancing.”

 

Steve didn't know how, couldn't tell her, that it wasn't the dancing that had stolen his breath. It was his partner.

 

“Maybe it's the fact that it's a guy,” Tony mused out loud. “SHEILD did have that 'sexual revolution' conversation with you, didn't they, Cap?”

 

Steve could have told Tony that he'd grown up in Brooklyn. Told him about the kind of bars and crowds he'd seen growing up, and reminded Tony that yes, people did have sex in the 40s, and not just the behind-closed-doors and only-while-married kind that Tony seemed to think. But he had no thoughts to spare for Tony, or Nat, or anyone else.

 

His feet moved easily over the floor, his body leaning and turning and spinning, _following_ , as his partner guided them easily.

 

“I have to say, Cap,” Tony continued, “at least you're right – you can dance.” There was a hint of approval there, but again, Steve took no notice.

 

He was meant to be watching the room. Mingling, but keeping an eye out. Wary for the Winter Soldier's target. Instead, his eyes were fixed on those opposite him, on the slight smirk beneath, the fall of hair he wanted to push his fingers into.

 

What if this man, this stranger, was the Winter Soldier's target? Grip tightening, Steve pulled his partner closer to himself. The man came with an easy huff of laughter, until their bodies were touching, lightly, short sparks of contact at hands and arms and hips and chests.

 

“Yeah,” Tony said, “this night has certainly gotten more entertaining.”

 

Steve ignored him.

 

The song changed, music flowing from one into another, but Steve followed effortlessly as his partner led, switching his steps with ease, even as his breath threatened to freeze in his chest.

 

One song, then another, and another. Normally, by this stage, Steve would be wheezing and laughing, bent double as he tried to catch his breath, Bucky plastered against his side or back, grinning and laughing too, but also checking his breathing, casting worried side-glances to make sure Steve wasn't actually going to have an attack.

 

No attack came. They continued dancing.

 

“Well,” said Tony, “I guess that super soldier stamina is useful for more than one thing.” There was a sigh. “You know, this really is more interesting if you actually react, Cap.”

 

Steve still ignored him.

 

The music wound down, slowing, and he stepped closer to his partner, until they were so close he could barely tell where he ended and the other man began. They hadn't spoken once, not since the stranger asked him to dance. Steve wanted to talk to him, to hear him speak, but he also wanted the stranger to keep his mouth shut, to keep the illusion that this was Bucky, come to dance with him once more.

 

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Tony said, “we sure this Winter Soldier guy is actually going to make a move? 'Cos this place closes soon and we haven't seen hide nor hair of him.”

 

“We stay 'til closing,” Natasha replied.

 

“You think he made us?” Tony asked. “'Cos, you know, I was worried about Cap blending in originally, but now, not so much. Although maybe he could stop dancing so well, you know. Only, I don't think anyone's gonna think he's here for any reason other than the dancing.”

 

The last song came to a close, and Steve found himself standing, silent, in the middle of the room. Pressed thigh to shoulder to his partner, eyes still boring into the other man's as though afraid he would vanish as soon as he looked away.

 

The man's smirk turned into a small smile as he reached up with his right hand to brush gently against Steve's face.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“ _Thank you,” Bucky said, once Steve had caught his breath and their laughter had died down. Reaching out, he brushed his thumb over Steve's cheek._

 

_Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled, leaning into the touch. “You don't have to thank me,” he said._

 

Without conscious thought, Steve leaned into the touch. “You don't have to thank me,” he said. Smiling soft, and slightly sad, the stranger stepped back from him, letting his hand drop.

 

“Yeah, I do,” he replied. Turning on his heel, he moved away into the dispersing crowd.

 

Swallowing hard, Steve watched him go, hands clenching to stop himself from reaching up to press against his cheek, or reach out after the ghost of his past.

 

**

 

It was only later, once they had given the entire place a thorough few going overs, Clint and Tony had checked all possible vantage points outside, and everyone had gone home, having decided that either something was wrong with their intel, or something had spooked the Winter Soldier, causing him either not to show or not to attempt his hit, that Steve realised the stranger with Bucky's eyes and Bucky's hair and Bucky's smile and Bucky's shoulders and waist and thighs – had been wearing gloves.

 

That night, he dreamt of dancing, and laughter and the soft wash of a cool summer breeze across his skin, tugging at the edges of his memory.


	3. out to dinner

_out to dinner,_

 

 

“You don't have to look so glum,” Tony said, pushing against Steve's shoulder as he elbowed his way onto the couch beside the other man. Glancing up, Steve frowned at him.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“Glum,” Tony explained, “you. Don't be.”

 

Making a face, Steve turned back to staring out the window. With a sigh, Tony nudged him once more. “Penny for your thoughts,” he tried.

 

Steve shrugged. “It's nothing,” he replied.

 

“Uh, huh. 'Cos you make it a regular occurrence to sit around the tower, staring out into nothingness.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Steve turned back to Tony. “Was there something you wanted?” he asked.

 

“Maybe to see you acting a little more like yourself.”

 

“How would you, or anyone, know what that looks like?” Steve murmured. His eyes drifted off for a moment, before he shook himself, pushing himself to his feet. “I'm gonna go hit something,” he said.

 

“Oooh, violent,” Tony replied with a grin. His grin dropped off his face as he watched Steve leave. There was a slight scuffling noise, and then Clint dropped down beside him on the couch, appearing from the roof overhead. Tony rolled his eyes. “Don't you ever walk around the tower like a normal person?” he asked.

 

Clint shrugged. “Why would I do that?” he asked. “Sounds boring.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Cap say anything?”

 

“Nah.” Sighing, Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. “I just – he's Cap, you know, he's not meant to act strange like that. Or mope, or whatever it is he's doing.”

 

Clint made a face. “Yeah,” he agreed. “The idea of Cap and moping just doesn't seem to fit. Then again, he is still human.”

 

“Mostly,” Tony said.

 

“Mostly,” Clint agreed. “So I figure he's allowed to mope just like the rest of us.”  


“Question is, what's making him mope?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. He paused. “You don't think it's 'cos he went dancing with that guy, do you?”

 

“What?”  


“I mean, Cap grew up decades ago – you don't think he's having like -”

 

“A midlife sexual identity crisis?” Tony asked, raising one eyebrow sceptically. “Or, I suppose in his case, a nonagenarian sexual identity crisis.”

 

“Please,” Natasha said, entering the room easily and without warning or noise. “Don't you two pay attention?”

 

“Pay attention?” Tony asked. “Pay attention to what?”

 

“Steve was completely at ease dancing the other night,” she said, fixing them with a look. “He certainly didn't act as though it was something new to him – dancing with another man.” At their blank looks, she continued. “Besides, he let the other guy lead.”

 

“So?” Tony asked.

 

“So,” she replied, “if a guy and a girl dance, the guy always leads. For Steve to let another man lead – and so comfortably – means he's done it before.”

 

Tony choked on his drink. “What?” he asked.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Natasha told him, “did I just ruin your idea of Captain America?”

 

Tony scowled at her. Clint laughed. Natasha just shot him a look that told him to pay more attention next time.

 

“Think we should try and track this guy down?” Tony asked. “I mean, if Cap was so comfortable dancing with him, maybe he'd like to do it again sometime? I could get JARVIS to look for him.”

 

Any response there might have been was cut-off by the loud, sharp tone of an urgent call coming in from SHIELD.

 

“Hold that thought,” Tony said. “JARVIS, on screen.” The large screen opposite them flickered to life, the image of Coulson appearing on it.

 

“Emergency meeting,” he said, without preamble.

 

“JARVIS,” Tony said, “let Cap and Bruce know to meet us here, yeah?”

 

“You'll need to come in,” Coulson said.

 

Tony frowned. “We have a perfectly acceptable screen here – which I am talking to you on, by the way. And a perfectly secure connection. I know, I made it. No-one's going to -”

 

Coulson's image vanished from the screen, leaving Tony gaping.

 

“What's up?” Steve asked, jogging into the room. He was dressed in his usual workout clothes, but lacked any kind of sweat (it made Tony kind of hate him for it – a little bit).

 

“Meeting,” Natasha said, “we're to meet Coulson at the Helicarrier.”

 

Above them, the sound of a quinjet landing could be heard. Tony pouted. “I still say we could have used the screen,” he said.

 

-

 

“We have a new location,” Fury said as soon as they entered the room. Turning away from the window he had been staring out, he tossed a file onto the table.

 

Reaching out, Steve drew it towards himself, flipping it open to see glossy pages, full of images of the inside of a fancy restaurant. Tony whistled.

 

“Nice,” he said.

 

“Our anonymous source provided us with this location as of 30 minutes ago. The hit is expected to go down this evening.”

 

“That's not long,” Tony said.

 

“No,” Fury agreed. “We've locked down communications, and this information is strictly on a need-to-know basis. No-one outside this room needs to know.”

 

Steve glanced up. “No back-up?” he asked.

 

Fury scowled. “I don't know how the Winter Soldier knew we were there,” he said, “but somehow he knew – as he didn't make the hit. We can't risk spooking him like that again.”

 

“I'm actually kinda surprised he didn't take the hit anyway,” Tony said. “I mean, you keep saying he's the best. Shouldn't the best be able to kill someone whether we're watching for him or not?”

 

“Thankfully he didn't,” Steve replied.

 

“We don't know what he knows – or thinks,” Fury said. “What we do know, is that he didn't take the hit the other evening – so something must have tipped him off to our presence. Either we have a leak, or somehow he made us. So this time, we eliminate the possibility of leaks.”

 

“So, what,” Tony asked, glancing around the room at them. “It's just us?”

 

“You will have limited support,” Fury conceded. “A few other Agents disguised as staff. They will not be informed why they are there – simply that they are to provide support as needed.”

 

Steve nodded, staring down at the images. “Still no word on who the Solider is after?” he asked.

 

“None.”

 

“Right,” he agreed, splaying the images out so that he could look at them.

 

“I'd rather not be anywhere near where bullets could be flying,” Bruce spoke up.

 

With a nod, Steve shifted the images, studying them. “You can provide back-up from the Tower,” he agreed, “same as last time.” He tapped against the images. “Widow and I will attend as though we are going to dinner.”

 

“You sure you'll be okay with that?” Tony asked. “It'll mean pretending you actually know how to date.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Steve ignored him, not bothering to mention the dates he used to go on with Bucky (double-dates), or some of the things the Howling Commandos had pulled off during the war.

 

“Iron Man on air support,” he continued. “Hawkeye, up high.”

 

“So pretty much same as last time,” Clint said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “There are limited entry points into the restaurant,” he tapped against a couple of the images. “Only one wall has windows. So he'll either be up high somewhere to take the shot through the windows, or inside.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, we hear you,” Tony said. “Legolas here is best at long-range and the suit isn't exactly inconspicuous. You and Nat can blend in and are best at hand-to-hand.”

 

“I'm so glad you agree,” Fury stated sarcastically. “Now, I suggest you go prepare. Someone needs to find Cap a suit.”

 

Steve frowned. “I have a suit,” he said. “The one I wore the other night.”

 

“Oh Cap,” Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can't wear a suit more than once.”

 

Grimacing, Steve let himself be led out of the room. At least half-a-dozen protests hovered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be let out, but he bit them back (he'd grown up in the depression, it was wasteful, there was no way he could fathom only wearing something once, he used to wear his clothes until they wore out, sometimes it was hard to scrape together enough money to buy a jacket for warmth, let alone a whole suit for dressing up, Bucky would work himself to exhaustion if needed, just to keep Steve warm in winter).

 

“ _We'll buy new clothes,” Bucky told him, turning to grin from where he was sprawled out next to the fire. Gabe and Falsworth slept nearby, the latter snoring softly (though he would vehemently deny it). Jacques was on watch and Morita and Dum Dum were quietly checking supplies._

 

_Steve rolled his eyes. The firelight played over Bucky's face, and if he reached out, he could have touched him. “Go to sleep, Bucky,” he said._

 

_Bucky just grinned. “New clothes,” he said. “Suits. Not just our uniforms.”_

 

“ _I thought you liked your uniform,” Steve replied. He couldn't quite keep back the smile. “You said all the dames liked it, and would wear it around, hat tilted just so – like it made you suave or something.”_

 

“ _Punk,” Bucky laughed softly. “I am suave, and I don't need no uniform for that.”_

 

“ _Mmm-hmm.”_

 

“ _The uniform's nice,” he continued, soft. “But we'll buy suits, something just for us, not issued by the army.”_

 

“ _Sounds nice.”_

 

“ _Give us something nice to wear to dinner,” Bucky continued. “Something better'n our everyday clothes.”_

 

“ _Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Steve murmured. He could feel sleep pulling at him, and if he ignored the crackle of the fire, the gentle buzz of insects and the cold earth digging into his back, he could almost imagine he was back in their apartment in Brooklyn, lying across from Bucky in the dark, settling down for sleep._

 

“ _You know me,” Bucky replied. “I always have a plan.”_

 

-

 

Taking a deep breath, Steve adjusted the ends of his sleeves. Tony had kept good on his promise (threat), and Steve was dressed in a brand new suit. He still couldn't see the point in having a different suit (he didn't think it likely that anyone from the dance would be at the restaurant as well – apart from the Soldier's target – so how would anyone even know?)

 

His bowtie felt tight and he felt (as he sometimes did) suddenly too large and clumsy.

 

Reaching up, Natasha placed her small hand on his arm. “Relax,” she murmured out the side of her mouth.

 

Steve laughed. “I'm taking you on a date,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice too much. “I'm fairly sure I'm allowed to be nervous.”

 

“You should be,” Tony's voice came in his ear. “Do you know what black widow spiders do to the males?”

 

Pushing back the urge to roll his eyes (Steve was fairly sure that his desire to do so increased in direct relation to Tony opening his mouth), Steve stepped forward, leading Natasha into the restaurant.

 

They were met by a waiter (who Steve was fairly certain he'd seen before on the Helicarrier), who led them to a small table near the centre of the room with two seats.

 

“Ooh, gentlemanly,” Tony commented as Steve held out the chair for Natasha.

 

“Thank you,” she told him. “You should take notes,” she added to Tony, who simply laughed.

 

Taking his own seat, Steve glanced around. The table they'd been given gave them, between them, a basically unobstructed view of everyone else there. Steve watching one side, Natasha the other. There were a few couples already in the room, but they had arrived early, so a number of tables were still empty.

 

“I can see two couples who were there the other night,” Natasha murmured, picking up her napkin and shaking it out.

 

“One,” Steve added. “So that makes three. Six possible targets.” He picked up the wine bottle from the bucket of ice left in the centre of the table, tipping it towards her.

 

With a nod, Natasha held out her glass. “So,” she said, “Entree?”

 

“Oh, go for the little things,” Tony said, “you know, the ones you get to eat with your fingers, even though it's a posh restaurant, and -”

 

Ignoring him, Steve opened up his menu, giving Natasha a soft smile. She smiled back, her face relaxed in a way he rarely saw, but he knew it was for show.

 

They ordered their entrees, and ate slowly, chatting softly between themselves, leant forward as though the other person took up all their attention.

 

“You seemed like you knew the area,” Natasha commented softly, nibbling lightly on something Steve hadn't even tried to pronounce. He shrugged lightly.

 

“It's Brooklyn,” he said. “It's not here anymore, but there used to be a restaurant just a couple of buildings down – Bucky and I would go there on dates.”

 

“Dates?” Tony exclaimed (and Steve had been so enjoying the silence).

 

“Yeah,” he agreed easily. “Bucky would find a dame, one with a friend, and then drag me out on a double-date with him.”

 

“Drag you – you didn't like dating?” Tony asked.

 

Steve gave a wry smile. “The dames weren't exactly lining up to date me,” he said, “not back then. So no, watching them all pant after Bucky while ignoring me wasn't exactly my idea of a good time.”

 

“But you still went?” Natasha asked.

 

He laughed. “I've been following Bucky for a long time,” he said, “figured it was only fair, considering all the trouble he followed me into. 'Sides, Buck wouldn't go if I didn't, said I needed to give it a try, that someday some dame would realise how great I was.” He shrugged. “He deserved to enjoy himself.”

 

Reaching out, Natasha placed her hand over his. Smiling back at her, Steve let his eyes drift to the latest customer entering the restaurant. Unlike the others, this customer entered by himself.

 

Breath catching, Steve let his eyes drift over the neatly-fitting suit, broad shoulders, slim waist, strong thighs. And oh, what a hypnotising gait.

 

“What?” Natasha asked, keeping the soft smile on her face. The man – stranger – was behind her, out of her eyesight, but directly in Steve's.

 

“Oh,” Tony said with a laugh, “it's Cap's guy.”

 

“What?” Clint asked?

 

“Cap's guy – from the other night? The dancer?” Tony sounded positively gleeful. “He's here.”

 

“Nine possible targets,” Natasha murmured, adding him to their list of those who had been at the dance as well as at the restaurant.

 

For a moment, Steve wished Tony wasn't able to see the security camera feed through JARVIS – it would cut back on the commentary.

 

The stranger (who looked like Bucky), took a seat, facing Steve. Swallowing, Steve glanced down, towards Natasha.

 

“Don't be shy, Cap,” Tony continued, “I'm pretty sure he's checking you out.”

 

“Tony,” Steve began.

 

“Sorry Steve,” Bruce said, “but I think Tony's right.”

 

Glancing up, Steve found his eyes caught by those blue-grey ones, boring into his. He swallowed once more. “Uh,” he said.

 

Tony cackled.

 

“You better be recording this, Stark,” Natasha said, still smiling sweetly, “so that I can watch it later.”

 

“Sure,” Tony agreed easily. “We can make a movie night of it.”

 

Despite his best efforts, Steve felt his cheeks warming, blood rushing into them. He knew that they would be turning red. Across from him (metres away, and yet seeming close enough to almost touch), the stranger raised one eyebrow, letting his eyes deliberately sweep over Steve's attire, before smirking in approval.

 

_Steve stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in his best jacket and tie. The jacket was too large (they hadn't been able to afford anything else, and it was warm – which Bucky said was most important considering Steve's health), and Steve knew it hung awkwardly on his slight frame. He grimaced._

 

_Bucky was waiting for him, leant against the wall, looking effortlessly put together and handsome. He let his eyes sweep over Steve – who felt his face heating. Bucky smirked, giving him a small nod._

 

“ _You'll do,” he said._

 

The waiter arrived, bringing their first course, and breaking Steve's eye-contact for a moment. He ducked his head, trying to will back his blush, and reminding himself that Bucky had died 70 years ago (saving Steve's life – he was always doing that).

 

The waiter left, and Steve tried to eat, but every time he looked up, his eyes caught upon the stranger's. The tilt of his head, the small smirk, the laughter dancing in his eyes – everything screamed Bucky. And everything screamed that he was inwardly laughing at Steve, while never taking his eyes off him.

 

“Well?” Natasha asked.

 

“Uh,” Steve said.

 

Tony laughed. “Cap's guy is definitely still interested,” he said. “And he's eye-fucking him. Continuously.”

 

“Uh,” Steve repeated (he knew how to speak, he knew that he did, he just couldn't seem to get his mouth to work).

 

“Oh, sorry,” Tony said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Didn't they have eye-fucking back in the forties? It means he looks like he's undressing you with his eyes, and thinking incredibly naughty – but definitely entertaining – thoughts while doing so. Imagining what he could be doing with you.”

 

Steve didn't bother to tell him that yes, there was eye-fucking in the forties (even if they hadn't called it that).

 

_Squished into the bench beside his 'date', Steve tried to smile. The dame Buck had found for him was, for once, not taller than Steve (they were equal height). But, like every other dame Bucky had ever found, she had appeared somewhat disappointed (although trying to hide it), when she saw Steve._

 

_Sometimes Steve wished that Bucky didn't just tell them 'the good stuff' about him. He was fairly sure that Bucky was biased when it came to that – which meant the dames were always disappointed when they met him in person._

 

_Across from Steve, Bucky's eyes met his, sparkling with laughter and a promise for later. He was angled towards his date for the evening, but his eyes were on Steve._

 

“Oooh, look!” Tony exclaimed. Steve didn't need the exclamation – he was already looking (he was meant to be watching the entire restaurant, but somehow he couldn't look away).

 

“What?” Clint asked. There was more interest in Clint's voice than there usually was when he was on watch, but Steve couldn't blame him – Tony's commentary had continued unabated since the stranger entered.

 

“Now that,” Tony said, “is eating with purpose.”

 

There was a lot of tongue, Steve admitted. Slipping out between those lips (they would look so red, so good, swollen from kisses), and twining around the food on his fork (Steve couldn't have said what the food was, but he could have drawn that mouth, that tongue, in detail). A quick dart of the tip to brush against the corner of his lips.

 

Grabbing his drink, Steve lifted it up to take a gulp (the fact that his own tongue darted out first to moisten his lips and then to taste the wine, had nothing to do with the stranger – it was completely natural).

 

“Oh Cap,” Tony said, “I didn't know you had it in you.”

 

Second course followed first. And then third came after that. Dessert. Drinks. Steve was fairly sure he had never eaten such a charged meal before. Every time he looked away, reminding himself why he was there, he found his eyes drifting back to the stranger opposite him.

 

Tony's commentary filled the lapses between the conversation between him and Nat (she kept asking him to describe what the stranger was doing – and Steve kept blushing, unable to stop).

 

They lingered over dessert and drinks, watching as, slowly, the rest of the customers left, until it was just them and the stranger.

 

Placing down his drink, glass empty, the stranger gave Steve a long look before standing, pushing back from the table and weaving his way between the empty tables towards the restrooms.

 

“And Cap's guy is making a break for the restroom, having just given the best come-hither look I have seen in quite some time,” Tony narrated.

 

Natasha raised one eyebrow. Steve stared at her.

 

“What?” he hissed.

 

“Go,” she replied, smiling and kicking out at his chair, making it move back a bit.

 

“We need to, need to keep an eye out,” Steve replied.

 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha made a show of looking around the empty restaurant. “I think we're fine,” she said. “Go.”

 

“Yes!” Tony whooped, as Steve stood up, stumbling to his feet. He gave one last glance towards Nat, who shooed him on, before heading towards the restrooms. His steps firmed up as he walked, until he pushed the door open with confidence, stepping inside.

 

“Finally!” a voice hissed. Hands grabbed Steve's jacket lapels, dragging him fully inside before pushing him up against the closed door. A strong, lithe body pressed up against his front. “Second date kiss,” the stranger murmured. Steve had only a moment to catch a glimpse of blue-grey eyes and shoulder-length brown hair before soft lips pressed against his, teeth nipping at his lower lip.

 

“ _Finally!” Bucky hissed, grabbing Steve as they stumbled through the door into their apartment. Clutching at Steve's jacket, he dragged the smaller man fully inside before spinning them and shoving Steve up against the closed apartment door._

 

_He stepped into Steve's space, leaning up against him, before tilting his head and pressing his lips to Steve's. It was all soft warmth and sharp teeth and breathy gasps. Steve opened his mouth, letting Bucky push his tongue inside._

 

Gasping, legs turning to jelly beneath him, Steve felt his lips part. The stranger's tongue pushed into his mouth, mapping it out in broad strokes and soft coaxings. Hands reaching up, Steve wound his fingers through that hair, pressing the stranger closer to himself.

 

He even kissed like Bucky.

 

“Well?” Tony asked. “We can't see you, Cap, so you're going to have to provide some details. Now.”

 

But Steve couldn't hear him. All his focus was on those lips, that tongue, chasing it back into the stranger's mouth. They broke apart with a moist sound, breath harsh.

 

“Was that?” Tony asked. “Was that a kiss? Did I just hear a kiss? Cap? Details!”

 

Soft lips pressed back against his own in a brief caress. Once. Twice. Three times. Eyes closed (when had he closed them), Steve smiled into the kisses, hands slipping down to curve over strong shoulders. The stranger felt so like Bucky (there was something off about his left shoulder, something not quite right, not quite Bucky, but Steve had no thought to spare for that, not with those lips on his).

 

With one last kiss, the stranger stepped back and Steve's hands fell from his shoulders. He took a breath, opening his eyes, but the room was empty.

 

Pushing himself upright, Steve glanced around. The stranger was gone.

 

“Cap?” Tony whined.

 

Ignoring him, Steve stumbled out into the empty restaurant (just Natasha left at their table). She raised one eyebrow when she saw the state of his hair and lips, and glanced behind him, but Steve shook his head.

 

The stranger had vanished.

 

And, once more, the Winter Soldier had failed to make any attempt at his hit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I made up the restaurant. I tried researching for one, but realised that I would spend all my time researching and you would never get this chapter, so decided to make it up/be vague instead. The idea of having the restaurant in Brooklyn came about when I came across 'Chef's Table at Brooklyn Fare' – which is meant to be the only three-star Michelin restaurant in Brooklyn. I decided not to go with that particular one as what I could see on the website suggested that the seating wouldn't fit what I wanted for the chapter.


	4. an opera, maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've upped the rating on this 'cos, well, let's just say that if second date lets them kiss, then, this is the third date (although you'll have to judge at the end whether it deserves a higher rating or not, just remember there's still two more chapters after this).
> 
> Also, apologies for the late posting - while not the only reason it's late, I did lose my laptop recently (it died), along with all my notes and my almost-completed first version of this chapter. Admittedly, it took me a while to face trying to re-write it.

_an opera, maybe_

 

Leaning back on the couch, Steve let his sketchbook rest in his lap, pencil laid aside for a moment. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up entire walls of the Avengers Tower.

 

Reaching out, Steve let one finger trace gently over the soft curve of a smile, before dropping to stroke the curve of an ear.

 

“Nice.”

 

Jumping, Steve twisted to see Tony leant over the back of the couch, staring at the open page of his sketchbook.

 

“Uh,' Steve said.

 

“That guy must have made quite an impression on you,” Tony said with a grin, nudging aginst Steve's shoulder.

 

Turning back to his drawings, Steve tilted his head to the side. He assumed that Tony was talking about 'Cap's Guy' as the team had taken to calling him (considering Tony's fascination with him). But Steve hadn't been drawing 'Cap's Guy', he'd been drawing Bucky.

 

Drawing him the way he always used to – in bits and pieces. The soft curve of his mouth. The line of his back. The jut of his chin. The laughter in his eyes. The stretch of his neck. The quirk of a grin. The strength of his thighs. The slope of his shoulders. Captured in fragments, never quite making up the whole – because how could he have ever explained to anyone why he drew his best friend so much?

 

In bits and pieces he could pass it off as anatomy practice.

 

Since waking in the future, Steve had realised that no-one would stop him from drawing Bucky – in full. And yet, yet, he had still not done so. He wanted to – to capture Bucky before time dulled the edges of his laughter and smiles, his wit and his anger and passion, in Steve's mind.

 

But he had never been sure that he could capture Bucky. Bucky was so alive, so vibrant, and there was just so much to him – so much that Steve saw in him.

 

It was easier to draw him in pieces, for Steve feared that, should he ever try to capture Bucky fully on paper, he would always find something missing (because it would always simply be a picture, and never the real thing).

 

So he drew Bucky in bits and pieces, and tried to pretend it was almost enough.

 

“Very nice,” Natasha said, materialising from somewhere to push Tony out of the way.

 

Self-conscious, Steve closed his book. “It's nothing,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, he stood. “I'm, uh, I'm going to train,” he said.

 

Tony watched him leave with interest. “You don't think he's upset 'cos I realised he was drawing his Guy, do you?” he asked Natasha.

 

She shook her head with a frown. “No,” she said. “I think it's something else.”

 

“Going to share?”

 

“Don't you think that's Steve's decision?”

 

Sighing dramatically, Tony flopped down onto the couch.

 

“How's your little project coming along?” Nat asked, feigning disinterest.

 

Tony snorted. “I started it,” he said. “But then Pep came and basically threw some papers at me -”

 

“I'm sure she handed them to you nicely.”

 

“- and then, once I finally signed them all – I really do have to find a way to duplicate my signature so that I don't have to keep signing things. Why can't I just use an electronic signature? - she decided to drag me off to a board meeting.”

 

“The poor board.”

 

“It was the most boring thing I have done in quite some time. And I've spent time on _stake-outs_ recently. With no pay-off.”

 

“Admit it,” Clint said, entering the room, “you have been entertained quite nicely on said stake-outs, what with Cap's Guy coming along to make things more interesting.”

 

“I still think we should find him so that Cap can get his Happily Ever After,” Tony replied.

 

“Hmmm,” Natasha agreed.

 

*

 

Striding down the hallway of the Helicarrier, Steve saw Tony and Clint waiting up ahead with Agent Coulson.

 

“Cap!” Tony called, spying him.

 

“Tony,” Steve said with a nod, “Clint, Agent Coulson.”

 

“Captain,” Coulson replied.

 

“Can we go inside _now_?” Tony asked. Steve frowned.

 

“No,” Coulson replied.

 

“Seriously?” Tony exclaimed. “I built the room for you! Yes, I know it's like, the top-secretest of top-secret rooms -”

 

“I don't think top-secretest is a word,” Clint interjected, but Tony just waved him off.

 

“- but I built it! I've already been in there. I know exactly what it's like, I -”

 

“Will have to wait,” Coulson informed him.

 

“Agh!” Tony groaned, banging his head back against the wall. Despite Tony's rather vocal protests, it wasn't long before Natasha and Bruce joined them.

 

“Now?” Tony asked.

 

“Almost,” Coulson replied, a smile hovering around the edges of his lips. Steve's eyes narrowed at the sight.

 

“Friends!” Thor's voice boomed as he strode swiftly towards them.

 

“Thor!” Tony boomed back (as much as he could – compared to Thor's boom, it really wasn't that impressive but no-one was particularly inclined to tell Tony that just at that moment).

 

“Now,” Coulson said. Reaching out, he pressed a section of the wall, which rippled before forming into a palm reader. Multiple checks and passwords later, the wall slid back to allow them entrance.

 

Passing into the room, Steve glanced around at the smooth walls and bare interior. The wall slid smoothly shut behind them, making the room appear as if there was no door.

 

Fury was waiting inside.

 

“Take a seat,” Fury said.

 

Sitting at the table, Tony tapped against the surface, before frowning. “Uh, Nick,” he said. “I think your table's broken.”

 

“It isn't broken, Stark,” Fury replied, giving him a glare for the use of his first name. “It's a security measure.”

 

Frowning, Tony leant back in his seat.

 

“This is a technology-free room,” Fury continued, “as anything that makes its way onto our network can, in theory, be hacked.”

 

“Uh, no, it can't,” Tony argued, “because I designed the security for your network. It's secure.”

 

“And yet,” Fury said, “we have twice failed to catch even a glimpse of the Winter Soldier.”

 

Thor frowned, looking around at them. “Who is this Soldier of Winter?” he asked, “and why do you wish to see him?”

 

“The Winter Soldier,” Fury said, “is an assassin. We have received two anonymous tips, informing us as to where his target will be. Yet, each time, we have not seen any trace of the Soldier. Nor has he completed his mission.

 

“We've been given a third tip.”

 

Leaning forward, Steve glanced towards the single folder lying on the table. Fury nudged it towards them.

 

“There are very few explanations as to the failure of our missions,” Fury said. “One, somehow the Soldier is marking our presence and deciding not to engage. Two, there is a leak within SHIELD, informing the Soldier as to our movements. Or three, our anonymous tipper is having fun yanking our chains.” Fury did not look impressed.

 

“So, do we just stop following the tips?” Tony asked.

 

“And what if they're real?” Steve asked. “We can't let the Soldier carry out his next hit.”

 

“We follow up on the tips,” Fury said. “But we are the only ones who do so. No back-up – in case that is where our leak is originating. No whisper of what we are doing on the SHIELD network or mainframe.” He glanced pointedly about the room.

 

“So,” Tony said, dragging the folder closer to himself and flipping it open. “Where are we headed next?”

 

Glancing down, Steve felt his stomach flip, for a reason he couldn't quite explain. Goosebumps broke out over his skin and a shiver went down his spine, anticipation settling heavy in his gut.

 

“The Opera,” he said, “we're going to an opera.”

 

*

 

Tugging on his bow-tie, Steve stared up at the front of the Metropolitan Opera. He felt out of place, like he was dressed up in someone else's clothes and in a situation he should never have been in. The opera had always seemed the pinnacle of a rich-man's past-time (he wasn't entirely sure why that was, but somehow, sometime, he and Buck had decided that going to the opera was something that rich people did).

 

Despite everything that had happened to him, both in the past and present, Steve didn't feel quite like he fit into the opera.

 

“Relax, Cap,” Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder. Steve shot a wry smile in Tony's direction.

 

“This isn't exactly my scene, you know,” he said.

 

“Not mine, either,” Tony replied, before moving inside.

 

The plan was fairly simple. Without backup, and in the dark of the opera, their best best was to try and spread out, hoping to catch either a glimpse of the Winter Soldier or his target. Tony and Steve would take the Boxes, Nat the Circles and Clint and Thor the floor (admittedly, Steve thought it a rather poor plan, considering the size of the place, but there was little else they could do). Natasha and Clint would watch the entrance before the show, to try and mark the Soldier should he enter, and Coulson would take their place once the opera started.

 

Walking up the sweeping staircase, Steve could feel his palms beginning to sweat. For a moment, he felt as though, should he turn to his left, Bucky would be standing there, just as he always had (before he fell).

 

Shaking the feeling off, Steve continued on.

 

His jaw dropped when he got a look at the seating. It was – enormous. There was no way they were going to find anyone here.

 

“Just keep moving,” Natasha murmured as she passed him. “Have a look at what we need to work with.”

 

Nodding, Steve moved further into the room. He had a feeling he was going to be spending most of his time heading up and down stairs and running around between the boxes. There were just so _many_.

 

Returning to the foyer, he lingered near one of the walls, watching people enter. With the darkness inside during the opera, it was considered a good time for the Winter Soldier to make his move. But also trickier. He would have to know exactly where his target would be sitting. Which meant that before and/or after the opera, in the foyer or restrooms, would also be a prime time for the Soldier to make his move.

 

Watching the people enter, Steve couldn't help but think that there was no way they would be able to do anything. Without more men, and with Bruce staying back at the Tower as back-up (and because he was still worried out Hulking out on them should anything go wrong – and, in his words, he 'already broke Harlem, I don't won't to break the Opera as well'), what chance did they have to keeping an eye on everyone?

 

Seeing Natasha flitting through the crowd, Steve let himself, for one moment, pine over the fact that this wasn't the kind of mission he was made for. Put Steve in front of an enemy and ask him to fight, place him somewhere and ask him to take the hit, that he could do. But fitting in, appearing normal and as though he belonged – he really wasn't sure how he was going to do that.

 

Still, if it meant one less dead person at the end of the day, then Steve would do his best.

 

“And nothing,” Tony said, a while later, as everyone was making their way inside. Following the crowd, Steve decided to start from the bottom and work his way up. There were quite a number of boxes for him to go through, but at least he only had to cover one side – Tony covering the other.

 

The lights dimmed, music swelled, the stage lit up, and Steve almost forgot why he was there. His mouth and throat went dry and for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to run away. To take himself away from something that he was never meant to have seen – not without Bucky.

 

But then he firmed his resolve, focusing on what he was there to do.

 

It was tricky to make his way through the dark, to peer in at those situated in each box, and avoid being noticed (by patrons or staff), but Steve did his best, slowly making his way up.

 

By the time he reached the top, the family circle, Steve had had a number of close calls and not seen anyone who looked like they could be the Winter Soldier (and only having 'he has a metal arm' as a descriptor to go off of really didn't help with that), or who he recognised from either the dance or the dinner.

 

Knowing that creeping around in the dark any further would only be likely to get him caught, Steve slipped into an empty box. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the stage, but he forced himself to look away, to let his eyes drift over the dim seating around him, searching for the tell-tale glint of light off a rifle scope or flash of metal. He stood near the edge, eyes straining as he stared out.

 

“You're not watching the show,” a voice murmured in his ear.

 

He should have jumped, that was all Steve could think for a moment, he should have jumped. But he didn't. Instead, he found himself leaning back towards the warmth that had suddenly appeared behind him. A thrill running through him as his nerves both settled and raced, as thought he had been waiting for this moment. He wanted to turn around and look.

 

“Is that Cap's Guy?” Tony asked in his earpiece. “Cap? Is that your Guy?”

 

But he also didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to know. Because, like this, in the dark, Steve could pretend that it was Bucky behind him. Bucky, who should have been there with him, just like they'd planned.

 

Hands came up to rest on his shoulders, solid and real. One warmer than the other, but Steve could barely give thought to that with the soft exhale of breath tickling against the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck.

 

“Best do as he says, Steve,” Natasha's hushed voice said. “No need to look out of place.” Steve could have sworn there was a smirk in her tone.

 

Hands slipped down, over his shoulders and along his arms. Fingers twined with his for a moment, before releasing, stroking along his palms as they traced back up his arms, over his shoulders, then down his back to rest on his hips.

 

Heart pounding, pulse racing, Steve let himself be drawn backwards, until he was resting, back pressed to the chest of the man behind him, hips nestled together. The man leant forward, hooking his chin over Steve's shoulder, pressing them impossibly closer. His breath washed over Steve's cheek, and Steve felt that, should he turn his head just so, they would be kissing.

 

He didn't move. Barely dared to breath. His skin felt like it was on fire.

 

“Watch,” the man murmured, lips brushing against Steve's cheek, his ear. He shuddered.

 

Before them, the performance went on. But all Steve could say about if later was that there was music and colours – all his concentration was taken up by the feel of the man behind him, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath, the beat of the heart he could feel in the chest against his back.

 

Intermission arrived, the lights coming up, and Steve jolted, realising that he should be looking for the Winter Soldier or his victim.

 

Hard on that thought was another one – that the man behind him, 'Cap's Guy', could be the target. He had, after all, been at all three locations so far.

 

Shifting, the man pressed his lips briefly to the back of Steve's neck.

 

“I'll get you a drink,” he said.

 

“ _I'll get you a drink,” Bucky said, mouth pulling down into a frown as he watched the rattle, actually visible in Steve's skinny chest as he breathed._

 

“ _I'm fine,” Steve protested, hand automatically raising to try and smother the cough that resulted._

 

“ _Punk,” Bucky accused softly as he stepped forward, fitting his arms around Steve to help him sit up, ease the pressure on his chest. “You're this close to be blown away by a strong breeze and you know it.”_

 

_Steve scowled. “I'm fine,” he insisted, pressing his lips tightly against the cough that wanted to escape. It made his chest hurt even worse._

 

_Shoving the pillows behind Steve's back, Bucky stood. “Wait here,” he said. “I'll get you a drink – something warm – and then you can do some drawing.”_

 

“ _You don't need to -”_

 

“ _If you get up, I will thump you.”_

 

_Scowling, Steve settled back against his pillows, crossing his arms petulantly as he waiting for Bucky to return with his drink._

 

_Rolling his eyes at Steve, Bucky handed him his drink, before darting in quickly for a kiss._

 

“ _Jerk,” Steve muttered, but Bucky just smiled._

 

“I'll come with you,” Steve said, turning slowly to look over at his companion. Sparkling blue-grey eyes laughed back at him.

 

“You never could just stay and wait,” the other man murmured.

 

Feeling his mouth quirk up in a grin, Steve fought against allowing it to blossom into the enormous smile he could feel tugging at his lips. “Yeah?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” his Guy replied.

 

“I think I may just throw up a little bit from the sap,” Tony's voice came through his ear. “Which, by the way, is actually a compliment, Cap.”

 

“Focus on the mission, Stark,” Natasha replied.

 

“If Cap's Guy is here again,” Clint said, “then chances are he's the Soldier's target.”

 

Steve nodded, even though they couldn't see him. Thankfully, Natasha seemed to realise that he couldn't answer – not with the man standing opposite him (that or she was watching him somehow, Steve wouldn't put that past her).

 

“Agreed,” she said.

 

“Best stay with him, then, Cap,” Tony said. “Protect him and all that.” Steve was fairly sure that, had he been able to see Tony in that moment the other man would have been waggling his eyebrows suggestively (so he was also rather glad that he couldn't see him).

 

“Coming?” Steve's Guy asked, drawing Steve's full attention back to him (his eyes had never stopped drawing in the sight of those eyes, that hair, his chin and shoulders and hips and thighs).

 

“Not yet,” Tony muttered.

 

Ignoring his audience, Steve let his grin turn into a smile as he reached out to accept the man's hand. “Sure,” he said.

 

“ _Coming?” Bucky asked. His hair was falling into his eyes and he had a smirk on his face that cut through the blood still dribbling from his nose._

 

_Groaning, Steve reached out, grabbing hold of Bucky's outstretched hand. “Sure,” he said. “Someone's gotta try and keep you outta trouble.”_

 

_Bucky rolled his eyes. “Not sure that should be you,” he replied, “what with all the trouble you're always finding yourself in.”_

 

“ _I'm fine,” Steve argued. “I was fine.”_

 

“ _You're always fine,” Bucky agreed with a laugh, before giving Steve's hand a tug as he led him out of the alley._

 

They descended the staircase amidst the other opera-goers. Steve was fascinated (or he would have been fascinated, if he had any thought to spare for them), by the myriad of fashions, gowns and suits on display, as well as the less-formal clothing.

 

Steve's Guy held Steve's left hand in his right, fingers curled tight together, almost as though afraid that Steve would vanish in the crowd if he let go for a moment – there was no danger of that, Steve holding on just as tightly.

 

The intermission was far too short if you asked Steve. It seemed that one moment he was standing there, holding the hand that felt like Bucky's (apart from the glove – that was new. They'd never had money for gloves, leastways, not proper leather ones like this man was wearing), the next he was accepting a drink, fingers brushing together as the other man's eyes laughed at him, and then they were returning to their 'seats'.

 

They returned to the box up in the family circle, but this time they sat, legs tangling together naturally.

 

_Flopping down onto the couch, a ratty, worn thing old Mrs McReidy had given them for a few hours work one saturday afternoon, Steve sighed, closing his eyes._

 

_He felt Bucky collapse down beside him, sprawling out in that way that Bucky had, their legs tangling together with the ease of long cohabitation._

 

Steve's Guy leant up against Steve, a long line of warmth against his left side, arm around his shoulders.

 

“You should watch the show,” he said.

 

Steve huffed out a laugh, but turned his eyes out of the box. He wasn't watching the show, not really, but rather half-heartedly looking for any tell-tale signs of the Soldier.

 

Lips pressed against his neck and Steve felt his breath stutter in his chest.

 

_Lips pressed against his neck and Steve smiled, eyes slitting open to glance over to where Bucky hovered over him._

 

“ _Couldn't stay to your side of the couch?” he asked._

 

“ _Sure I could,” Bucky replied, “thing is, you're on my side, punk.”_

 

“ _Jerk,” Steve replied, but he let his eyes close, head tilting to the side in invitation. Bucky breathed a laugh against his throat._

 

Steve's eyes fluttered, but he forced them open, reminding himself that the Soldier could be targeting the man beside him, so he needed to be ready to protect his life.

 

The second half of the Opera, well, if Tony had seem them, Steve was fairly sure that the teasing would never end. Even in his own mind, Steve admitted that what they had done very closely resembled a rather heated make-out session.

 

Lips that felt like Bucky's had traced up the side of his neck, tongue flicking out between them in places. They'd moved over his adam's apple, kissing along his jaw, and skittered up his cheek to let that tongue trace over the edge of his ear, before sucking his earlobe in between gentle teeth.

 

But Steve had never been one to just sit back and let things happen to him. Pressing closer to the other man, he had turned, pressing his own lips to the neck that so fascinated him. Tracing over the long line of his throat the way he wanted to trace it out on paper with his pencil.

 

Pressed kisses to the jut of that jaw, flicked his tongue against the corner of those lips, and bitten down against the edge of that ear – the man reacted the same way as Bucky always had, a jolt shooting through his body.

 

Then, finally, the man had turned his head, tilting it just so, and they'd kissed. Kissed and kissed the kissed, the way he and Bucky had on lazy afternoons when they had no-where to be and nothing better to do.

 

Kissed with lips and tongues, against mouths and necks and jaws. But any time Steve got too close to the other man's left side, he would shift away, moving Steve back to his right.

 

Still, by the time the Opera was ending, Steve felt drunk on the other man's kisses, lethargic and energised all at once. He could have kept kissing him endlessly.

 

The lights came up, and Steve blinked slowly, leaning back with a sigh. The other man's hair was dishevelled, his eyes bright and sad all at once. There was a promise there that Steve desperately wanted to believe, even if he couldn't admit it to himself.

 

Leaning forward, his Guy snatched another kiss from Steve's lips.

 

“One for luck,” he said.

 

“ _One for luck,” Bucky said, leaning forward, lips pressing briefly against Steve's before he stepped out of the apartment, tilting the uniform hat on his head just so._

 

_Shaking his head, Steve followed him._

 

Standing, Steve's Guy held out his hand once more, pulling Steve to his feet when Steve accepted it. They made their way down the stairs behind the majority of the other opera-goers.

 

“He's ignoring me!” Steve slowly became away of Tony's voice in his ear. “Completely and utterly ignoring me! This is unacceptable. Widow, tell me you have a visual, 'cos Cap's hardly going to spill the beans anytime soon.”

 

Steve felt a blush making it's away up his throat and along his cheeks. They passed a mirror and he was thankful to see that his advanced healing had managed to prevent any marks from being left on his skin that Tony would tease him about (even as he felt a pang for their absence, wanting something solid to remain of the night). There was nothing that could be done about his hair, however, which showed ample evidence of the fingers that had run through it.

 

By the time they reached the foyer, still holding hands, sides pressed together as they walked (closer than Steve and Bucky had ever walked, even in their part of Brooklyn they couldn't do that just on the street), there were only a few stragglers remaining.

 

“And yet again, nothing,” Clint said, sounding frustrated through the earpiece.

 

“Forget that,” Tony replied, “I spy, Cap and his Guy!”'

 

Tuning them out, Steve turned to the man beside him as they stopped just beyond the doors, at the top of the stairs. The night air was cool, washing over them, and overhead the stars peeked out between a few wisps of cloud.

 

“I guess this is Goodnight?” Steve said. His fingers tightened around the hand in his own.

 

“Yeah,” the other man said. Giving a tug on Steve's hand, he pulled him in.

 

_Bucky tugged on Steve's hand, reeling him in. Pressed close against Bucky, Steve looked up at him, tilting his head back and to the side, smile tugging at his lips._

 

“ _You gonna kiss me?” he asked._

 

“ _I dunno,” Bucky said, even as he leant down towards him. “Why would I wanna do a thing like that?”_

 

Hands raising to the other man's shoulders, Steve gave them a squeeze, eyes fluttering as they wanted to close in order to feel everything without distraction and yet also to stay open, to capture every moment of the man opposite him.

 

Lips pressed against his, chaste and quick, especially compared to what they had been doing not-so-long ago.

 

Stepping back, Steve's Guy dropped his hands from Steve. A lock of hair had fallen over his face. Automatically, Steve reached out, tucking it back into place. Turning his head, the other man pressed a kiss to Steve's palm.

 

“So,” said Steve, “dancing again?”

 

A brilliant smile lit up the other man's face. “Yeah,” he agreed, “dancing.”

 

Turning, he walked away into the night. He walked like Bucky.

 

Just. Like. Bucky.

 

“Jerk!” Steve called after him.

 

Looking back over his shoulder, Steve's Guy lifted his hand, giving Steve a two-fingered mock-salute. “Punk,” he replied.


End file.
